Salt
by Roxius
Summary: Rorschach asks for salt, but The Comedian isn't about to just hand it over without hearing 'please' first. However, when Rorschach refuses to do so, things get ugly. WATCHMEN! Please R & R!


Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen.

A/N: Haven't seen the movie, but I have read the comic...

I might make another fic or two for this series later on, as well.

The Comedian is disturbingly OOC or something in this...O_O at least he understands about good table manners, tho...

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Rorschach was never much of a talker; barely ever spoke in full sentences, either. He'd been that way for as long as anyone could remember. He claimed it was because he didn't like to waste time with "unnecessary" words, and it made interrogating the scumbags of New York a much, much simpler process. No one ever outspokenly complained about Rorschach's bluntness and lack of speech, mainly since it didn't bother them. The Comedian, however, due to his hot-headed personality, tended to get bothered very easily when something...or someone...rubbed him the wrong way. One certain confrontation between them that took place nearly could have brought an end to both of the heroes' lives.

It all happened one day during 'superhero lunchtime', as Captain Metropolis had dubbed it...

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"Salt."

The Comedian glanced up from his paper plate of rather stale ham, and glared menacingly at Rorschach, who had his mask pulled up high enough to reveal his nose and mouth, helping himself to a can of baked beans as usual. A heavy tension befell the both of them. Both the salt shaker and the pepper shaker were beside The Comedian's plate.

"...What did you just say?" The Comedian snarled.

"Salt." Rorschach repeated in that monotone voice of his. He shoved another spoonful of beans into his mouth. The Comedian grunted, and returned his attention back to his ham, trying to think of a way to eat it without throwing up. '...I'm stumped...'

When he realized the salt was still not yet in his grasp, Rorschach stopped eating. "I said salt."

"Yeah, I heard ya," The Comedian mumbled, not looking up at Rorschach, "...but I ain't given' it to ya..."

"Why not?"

This time The Comedian rose his head, and he looked absolutely livid. "BECAUSE, YOU SON OF A BITCH...YOU DIDN'T SAY 'PLEASE'!!!! HELL, ALL YOU JUST SAID WAS 'SALT'...!!!"

Rorschach shrugged. "I can say what I want,"

"YEAH, BUT...HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TRYING TO TELL ME?!!"

"Use head, dumbass...if it works..."

The Comedian suddenly shot up to a stand, and slammed his hands on the table, causing his paper plate and plastic fork and knife (yes, they're THAT poor, those pitiful masked adventurers) to fall to the floor. His large, moustached face was as bright red as a tomato, and he was barely fighting back every urge to smash his fist straight into Rorschach's jaw. Rorschach, however, was as calm and stoic as ever.

"You're supposed to say 'please', when asking for something...!!!" The Comedian barked loudly.

Rorschach picked his nose, apparently not worried about The Comedian possibly trying to mutilate him in the slightest. He flicked a tiny booger off to the right, and sighed heavily.

"Hurm...you seem distressed..." he pointed out; The Comedian wasn't sure whether he was being serious or mocking him, but either way it just made him feel even more pissed off. Reaching out, he grabbed Rorschach by the cuffs of his jacket and pulled him close enough that their faces were almost touching.

'Possibly homosexual...must investigate further...' Rorschach noted in the back of his mind.

"Listen here, you little shit bag," The Comedian snarled through tightly clenched teeth, "You may think you're hot stuff, going around speaking snappy little one-liners and scaring the fuckin' piss out of everyone, but in the end...you're nothin'! Got it?! Nothin'!! You can't get away with not using proper grammar or good manners your whole life, buddy!!!"

Rorschach scoffed. "Look who's talking...breath stinks like semen..."

Something inside The Comedian snapped at that instant. Letting out a furious roar, The Comedian slammed Rorschach head-first up against the table, and gripped his large fingers around the masked man's thin neck. Laughing insanely, foam was practically leaking down The Comedian's chin as he dug his fingernails deeply into Rorschach's skin, drawing blood. The half-eaten can of baked beans was left forgotten.

"Hurm..." Rorschach unsheathed a small switch-blade from his coat pocket, and without hesitation, shoved it as far as he could into The Comedian's chest. Blood was everywhere now, splashing all over the floor and their clothes as the two masked men wrestled to escape each other's grip. The Comedian tried to ignore the searing pain in his chest, not once letting his grip loose.

After almost an hour of endless struggling, both of them were beginning to grow weak due to blood loss.

"LET...LET GO!!!" Rorschach shouted.

The Comedian spat in Rorschach's face as his response. "NOT...UNTIL...YOU START SPEAKING LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, YOU STUCK-UP ASSHOLE!!! YOU GOTTA USE GOOD MANNERS, TOO!!!"

"...NEVER!!!"

Suddenly, having sensed the commotion earlier on, Dr. Manhattan teleported into the room, and wordlessly slapped The Comedian hard against the back of his head, causing him to reel back in pain and finally release Rorschach, who collapsed to his knees in relief. It took a few moments of endless bickering and dirty sex-related swear words before an explanation could finally be made.

"Look," The Comedian tried to say, Rorschach's knife still wedged into his chest, "All I was trying to do was teach Rorschach how to speak like the rest of us...that's all..."

"And you were going to do that...by strangling him to death?" Dr. Manhattan asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

The Comedian thought for a moment. "...Basically, yes."

Dr. Manhattan rolled his eyes and sighed, pondering why he even bothered hanging out with this violent ruffians sometimes. Sure, Silk Spectre was damn good in bed, but she was pretty much just as bad as these bastards were. It was so hard, having to always be the mature one.

"You alright, Rorschach...?" the blue man then asked Rorschach, who had now returned to eating his beloved beans. His mask was slightly stained with blood, and his trench coat was dripping with the crimson liquid. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Rorschach still nodded, though.

Putting his hands on his hips, Dr. Manhattan began to speak in a nagging tone, which horrifyingly reminded The Comedian of his dear, dead mother.

"Okay, so here's what we've all learned today from this...Comedian, you can't always force people to do what you want. Rorschach, you need to speak full sentences more often. And me? Well, I learned it's better doing it doggy-style, than no style at all..."

An awkward silence filled the small room. Rorschach even stopped feasting on his beans for a moment.

The Comedian opened his mouth to speak, but immediately gave up on it. '...I don't wanna know...' He slumped his shoulders and stormed out of the room, Dr. Manhattan soon following him.

Seeing he was now alone, Rorschach shrugged, and was about to shove another spoonful of beans into his gaping mouth, when he realized something.

"Salt."

It seemed The Comedian had taken the salt shaker with him.

"...Hurm..." Rorschach scowled.


End file.
